The Christmas Tree

I always know when my Dad is planning to bring it home. There is always a special twinkle in his eyes. He always "goes out" for a little while and we all can tell what really is going on. After a short while, I see the handle turn and open as my Dad's snowy toque comes through. He opens the other half of our orange double doors. Leaning against one pillar is our sturdy Douglas fir Christmas tree. My Dad heaves the tree through in several jerky movements causing many needles to fall like a green rain onto the carpet. Racing around we all run around to gather all the ornaments and the green tree stand. We all watch in suspense as my Dad sets it up. I notice the slight sag of his shoulders as he moves out the room, while my sisters, mom, and I go to decorate.
I gently lift out the angel. This is the crowning glory of any tree. So delicate, each piece of it crafted to represent prefect beauty. The porcelain hands and face, each cheek blushed and each strand of hair precisely placed. Placed on top, she watches the progress below her.
Each twinkling light laughs as it is wrapped around the tree. The golden beads glitter and dance in the soft lights. The many round spheres of red, green, silver, and gold are placed randomly along the strong branches. Many snowflakes and angels flow from bough to bough. Each of our treasured ornaments, homemade sleighs from popsicle sticks, miniature knitted stockings for candy canes, reindeer from clothespins each pure and innocent as the enthusiastic hands that made them. Fond memories lift out of them as I scatter them round the tree.
At last it is done, majestic and powerful. The angel looks down, almost smiling as one or two final touches are lovingly given. Racing up the silent stairs I go into my cluttered room and grab all my gifts to place under the tree. I almost trip as I quickly go down the steps to give my gifts a superb viewing spot. As I place the last present I sigh with contentment and rise slowly to put on my favourite carols on the radio.
The warm blaze of the fire happily burning in orange and yellow, giving off a radiant glow into the room lit only by the tree. Each carol ignites my imagination into my winter wonderland where every tree is laced with snow gleaming into the unbroken snow beneath each bough. It never is too cold, but the snow never falters in falling. I close my eyes and sigh in every fond memory of Christmas. I open my eyes and take a final look at the beautiful sight before me as I drift to sleep. Unaware of the snow drifting by in the window.